


Brotherly Lost Its Morality, Kind Of

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, that's about it, there's a kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sam is intoxicated and he loves his brother a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherly Lost Its Morality, Kind Of

Sam's feeling affectionate tonight, for the first time in a long time, and he can't quite pinpoint an excuse to make for it. He drinks a lot, downs a bottle of Jaeger and tosses back a few shots of vodka. A few other drinks go down with a slight burn after a few puffs of something green he found in Dean's glove box, and he's wobbly and sways a little as he wanders into the library. Dean's there.

“Hey,” Sam says as casually as he can, leaning against a pillar a few feet away from his brother. He only gives him a nod and a slight gesture, but Sam can see a smile on his lips so he steps closer and takes the seat opposite of him and hauls his bare feet up onto the table. “What'cha doing?”

“Uh,” Dean's eyes flicker up to Sam's before turning back to his book. “Reading.”

Sam gives a nod and purses his lips with thought. His head rolls to his shoulder as he inhales deeply through his nose, relishing in the feeling of air filling his lungs. It makes him light-headed kind of, so he chuckles. When his eyes open again, Dean's looking at him with a crooked smirk. 

“Are you drunk?”

“Umm...” Sam nods after little thought, his lips tugging down thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Well alright,” Dean scoffs in near disbelief, setting his book face down. “Why?” He laces his fingers together and holds his hands over his lap, elbows on either arm of his chair. Like he's some psychologist trying to dig into Sam's brain and beat it into submission, like there's some neurological reason behind Sam's drinking.

“Mm...” Sam chuckles. “Because I'm a consenting adult?”

A quirked eyebrows is all he gets in response.

“Dean,” says the younger hunter loudly, as if assessing the next topic. “I love you.”

The other Winchester's face flushes, or maybe it drains of color, Sam can't tell, but his eyes are searching now, looking for any spot to hold just so long they don't have to make eye contact. He licks his lips with a slight smirk. “Uh, thanks, little brother.”

“No. No, no,” Sam drawls. “I mean it.”

“Sam-”

The younger hisses until Dean's lips press into a tight line. “I just, uh... I know, lately, things have been rocky between us. Uhh...” A snort. “Okay, so, like, all the time.”

“Well, that's not true,” Dean interjects. 

“Kind of.”

“Okay, kind of.”

Sam snickers a little before gesturing at Dean loosely. “My point is, uh... Thank you. For everything.”

Dean's blushing now. Faintly, but Sam can see it, and it makes his grin grow wider, evolving into something that resembles shit-eating in nature as Dean mutters a, “You're welcome, I guess.”

“Hey, come here a second.”

“Why?”

“Don't ask stupid questions, to quote your, uh... Angel.”

“What?”

Sam shakes his head feverishly. “Nothing, just come here.”

So Dean stands to his feet, wiggling his toes against the fraying fabric of his socks as he pads around the table, coming to stand in front of his brother, between his legs, waiting patiently above him. There's a pair of fingertips at the side of his hand now, gliding up until his thumb meets the soft of his wrist. He takes a hold of it and tugs down, pulling Dean's lips to his own. Almost instantly there's a sound erupting from the back of Dean's throat, and Sam smiles against his brother's lips.

“And... Sorry,” he breathes, his eyes fluttering open as he cants his head back to drink in the candy apple green that are his brother's eyes. 

There's a hand at the crook of his neck, and the fingers that belong to it are tickling the nape of his hair line, a thumb brushing over his ear. “For what?”

“Just, uh. You know.” He pauses, the corners of his lips turning down, but this time it's not with thought. “Everything.”


End file.
